


Who Wants To Live Forever?

by mysticanni



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magic, Curses, Grief/Mourning, Historical Inaccuracy, Ice Cream, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Spells & Enchantments, Witch Curses, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:13:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21586678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticanni/pseuds/mysticanni
Summary: Roger has been cursed by a witch and is immortal.Roger vows never to get too close to anyone again when Richard Deacon, the love of his life, dies.Then Crystal enters his life.And then he meets John Deacon, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Richard.
Relationships: Chris “Crystal” Taylor/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Roger Taylor, Roger Taylor (Queen)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 43





	1. The Curse

**Author's Note:**

> The lyrics scattered throughout are from Just About Glad by Elvis Costello.

Chester, England, 1845

  
Chester, with its historic city walls and Olde Worlde charm was a popular destination for wealthy Victorian visitors and as Roger’s father owned both a guest-house and one of the three ice-cream kiosks in The Groves area by the river business was good; life was good.

  
It was during the hot August of 1845 that an outbreak of diarrhoea which grievously afflicted 145 people was traced back to ice-cream kiosk two. Kiosk two was owned by Paul Prenter. Roger’s papa owned Kiosk three.

  
Roger was ten years old at the time. He overheard his papa telling his mama that Mr. Prenter’s wife had been washing their sickly infant’s soiled napkins close to where they kept and washed their ice-cream strainer. ‘I hear another person has been taken ill,’ Roger’s papa had said gravely, ‘a child.’

  
The 146th case of diarrhoea was fatal. A small child died.

  
*

  
The day after the funeral the distraught mother appeared at Roger’s father’s ice-cream kiosk. She pointed a trembling finger at Roger, who was helping to churn the ice-cream. ‘You killed my boy but yours lives on!’ the woman wailed at Roger’s father.

  
‘I am sorry for your terrible loss, my dear,’ Roger’s father said, ‘I am not responsible, however.’

  
The woman gave an incoherent screech of rage and pain. That sound and the sight of her; red hair escaping from a bun; thin freckled face; black mourning dress and most of all her bloodshot staring green eyes would haunt Roger for the rest of his life.

  
And his life would be extremely long.

  
‘Oh! Don’t tell me it’s God’s will!’ she cried. ‘A curse on God and a curse upon your boy, too! You took mine from me but your son must live forever. Forever seven years old!’

  
(Roger protested indignantly that he was ten years old, actually, but no one was listening to him.)

  
Afterwards, the group of curious bystanders that had gathered swore that the air around Roger had shimmered. Roger himself felt hot then cold and heard a crackling noise.

  
*

  
Of course no one believed she had actually cursed him. (‘And it wouldn’t be the worst thing, would it?’ Roger’s father had mused as they walked home together: ‘to live forever?’)

  
*

  
_I’m just about glad that I knew you once._   
_And it was more than just a passing acquaintance_

  
Chester, England, 2010

  
Roger held his bandaged wrists up in front of his face. He had known, of course, that it wouldn’t work even as he had done it. He lifted his pint glass and took a sip. He glanced up as the pub door opened, admitting a blast of cold air and the male nurse from the night before, the one with the shoulder length dark hair and the silver hoop glinting in one ear. He had been kind. He’d had a girl’s name, Roger thought, but he couldn’t recall it.

  
‘Hi,’ the nurse was now right next to him and Roger jumped, sloshing some of his pint onto the table. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Crystal.’

  
That was it: Crystal.

  
‘We met last night,’ Crystal continued.

  
Yes, Roger thought: when Crystal had bandaged Roger’s wrists.

  
‘Hello,’ Roger muttered.

  
‘May I join you?’ Crystal asked.

  
Roger shrugged. ‘Sure.’

  
*

  
It was a tiny bar that the hordes of tourists did not normally find. That was why Crystal liked it. In the late afternoon of this December day it was deserted apart from the miracle patient from the night before.

  
He should be dead, this skinny blond with the haunted look in his blue eyes. He had lost too much blood. He should not be here sipping a pint. ‘Would you like another?’ Crystal offered, nodding towards miracle boy’s glass.

  
‘Yes.’ Pause. ‘Please.’

  
Once Crystal had returned from the bar with their pints the boy thanked him. Crystal sipped his pint. ‘Chris Taylor,’ he offered, ‘but everyone calls me Crystal.’

  
‘Roger Taylor,’ miracle boy muttered.

  
‘D’ you reckon we’re related?’ Crystal joked.

  
‘I think that is very unlikely.’

  
‘Probably not,’ Crystal agreed. ‘I’m so much better-looking for a start.'

  
This raised a small smile from the boy. He did not reply, however.

  
‘How old are you?’ Crystal asked.

  
‘One hundred and seventy-five,’ the boy muttered.

  
‘Going older is a good tactic,’ Crystal mused, ‘if you want to be complimented on how good you look for your age. It might be best to keep it to a realistic number though.’

  
The boy sighed. ‘Fine, I’m twenty-two.’

  
Crystal nodded. ‘I’m twenty-six.’ The boy shrugged, apparently uninterested, which Crystal supposed was fair enough. ‘You know I’m a nurse. What do you do?’

  
‘In the summer I sell ice-cream,’ Roger told him. ‘I own Kiosk three in The Groves.’

  
‘Oh!’ Crystal knew Kiosk three well. ‘You sell proper ice-cream. Your own secret recipe, isn’t it?’

  
The boy shrugged again. He was biting the skin around his thumb. ‘That’s me.’

  
Crystal wondered if he had another source of income during the winter months. Perhaps money worries were why he was suicidal though, aged twenty-two. ‘You can’t be twenty-two!’ Crystal blurted out. ‘You’ve had that kiosk since...’ He stared at Roger in confusion.

  
The boy smiled; a proper, lovely, smile. ‘I am one hundred and seventy-five years old. I am immortal. It sucks.’

  
*

  
Chester, England, 1845

  
The woman came to the door late at night. Roger was supposed to be in bed but her frenzied knocking on the door had wakened him. He crept to the door of his room.

  
The woman’s fiery red hair was down, glinting in the light from his papa’s candle. ‘I cursed the wrong boy!’ she howled, ‘Where’s your son? I must put it right!’

  
Papa sent her away without allowing her to see Roger.

  
*

  
It was around a month later when Roger saw her again. School had started again after the summer. Roger was walking home when she stepped out of an alley, startling him. ‘Boy! Don’t be afraid!’ She crouched next to him. ‘I can’t lift the curse completely: I don’t have the skills, but...’ she twirled her hands gracefully, ‘may you grow to adulthood and may your immortal life be as happy as possible. May you always have a roof over your head and enough to eat and enough money. In dark times let help and love always be offered.’

  
Roger heard a soft sigh and a sound like rippling fabric.

  
‘I’m sorry,’ the woman said, ‘for what it’s worth.’

  
*

  
_I’m just about glad that it was a memory_   
_That doesn’t need constant maintenance_

  
Chester, England, 2010

  
At first, Crystal had thought the psychiatric evaluation the hospital had carried out had been flawed: Roger was quite plainly delusional.

  
‘I should be dead,’ Roger noted calmly, sipping his pint. ‘I am not dead. You know there is something odd about me: that is why you came over; why you bought me a drink. I am immortal. I was cursed by a witch when I was ten years old.’

  
Crystal smiled. ‘Sure you were.’

  
‘Did you grow up here?’ Roger asked.

  
Crystal shook his head. ‘I grew up in London. I came here every summer to stay with my Gran, though.’

  
‘So I have sold you ice-cream.’

  
‘You can’t have.’ Crystal took a slug of his pint. He studied the drink rings on the surface of the battered wooden table.

  
‘You know I have.’ Roger’s blue eyes seemed to drill into him when he looked up.

  
And Crystal did know. He realised he had thought Roger looked familiar the moment he had seen him in Accident and Emergency the previous night. He knew his face from the ice-cream kiosk. He had a distinct memory of a chocolate Labrador snatching his strawberry ice-cream out of his hand when he was five years old and of Roger providing a replacement free of charge as Crystal’s lip had wobbled; tears threatening. He recalled his Gran prompting him to ‘say thank you to Mr.Taylor.’

Crystal took another gulp of his pint. That must have been another Mr. Taylor; another Mr. Taylor who bore a strong (uncanny) resemblance to the Mr. Taylor sitting in front of him. That could not be this man. ‘Curses aren’t real,’ he muttered.

  
‘They are,’ Roger smiled but his eyes were sad, ‘I can assure you they are.’

  
*

  
Chester, England, 1855

  
Roger was twenty when he met Richard. It had not yet become apparent that he had stopped ageing. He could still pretend that he was not cursed.

  
Richard had appeared at the ice-cream kiosk to buy ices for himself and his aunt. Roger found him a vision of loveliness. ‘Are you here for long, Sir?’ he asked.

  
‘I’m not sure. My aunt has been unwell and wanted a change of air. I am at her disposal.’

  
‘May I ask where you are staying?’ Roger had been ready to recommend his family’s guest-house but Richard and his aunt were staying at the best hotel in town. Richard’s clothing was not particularly expensive so Roger assumed he was obeying the whims of his wealthy aunt.

  
After three days of Richard buying ices each afternoon on the fourth day he was accompanied by a woman. Her fierce gaze swept over Roger. ‘So you are the ice-cream vendor.’

  
‘I am indeed, ma’am,’ Roger agreed pleasantly.

  
‘Mr. Taylor, this is my aunt Veronica,’ Richard flushed, as aunt Veronica raised her eyebrow at this, ‘I mean to say, may I present Mrs. Tetzlaff.’

  
‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Tetzlaff,’ Roger said. ‘Would you like your usual treats?’ he added to Richard.

  
‘Well,’ Richard’s aunt drawled, ‘you are pretty. Perhaps you would dine with us tonight, Mr. Taylor?’

  
Richard was blushing.

  
‘It would be my pleasure,’ Roger said.

  
*

  
_There are a few things that I regret_   
_But nothing that I need to forget_

  
Chester, England, 2010

  
‘You think I am crazy,’ Roger stated. ‘Still, perhaps we can be friends anyway?’ As the words left his mouth he wondered what he was doing. People were a complication he could do without in his life.

  
Crystal stared into his empty pint glass. He rather wished he had not sat next to Roger or engaged him in conversation.

  
Roger looked sad. ‘Well, perhaps not, then. Feel free to go on your way without giving me another thought.’ He drained his own glass and set it back down on the table with a thump. He watched droplets of liquid dribble back down the inside of the glass.

  
‘Hah!’ Crystal shook his head, ‘Now, that is not possible, is it?’

  
‘People meet fantasists in bars all the time,’ Roger remarked. ‘I’m just a crazy loner you can easily forget.’

  
Their eyes met.

  
‘I’ll give you a one month trial,’ Crystal decided. ‘This time next month if I still weirdly like you despite my better judgement we can commence on an official friendship.’

  
Roger grinned and held out his hand for Crystal to shake. Crystal wondered what the hell he was doing.

  
*

  
Chester, England, 1855

  
Roger had obviously worn his best suit to dinner and Richard appreciated the effort. Roger was also charming and witty and had good table manners, all of which Richard knew would be looked on favourably by his aunt Veronica. Would it be enough for her to overlook the fact that Roger had to work for a living?

  
‘Do you intend to remain a purveyor of ices all your life, Mr. Taylor?’ Veronica asked, leaning slightly towards Roger across the table, her rings flashing in the candlelight.

  
‘I’d like to travel, ma’am,’ Roger replied. ‘I’d like to see the world.’

  
*

  
_For all of the courage that we never had_   
_I’m just about glad_

  
Chester, England, 2010

  
Roger had invited Crystal to his house the following day. It was an address near the river, one of the big old houses which had mostly been split into smaller living spaces. So Crystal was amazed to discover that Roger owned the whole house. He had converted part of it into an industrial kitchen to produce ice-cream but the rest of the house was a home. The garden was laid out in terraces leading downhill to the river. There was a summerhouse and a boathouse on the lower level.

  
Crystal turned around in the sitting room, taking it all in. The decor was a mix of antiques and more modern pieces. It all looked expensive. He must have appeared astonished. Roger looked amused.

  
‘I’ve had one hundred and seventy-five years to learn how to manage money,’ Roger said. He stepped closer to Crystal and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Crystal’s ear. The air felt charged. ‘And it has been one hundred and sixty years since I lost my virginity so I’ve had quite a long time to hone certain other skills too,’ he murmured.

  
Their faces were close together. Crystal kissed him. Their eyes met as he drew back. ‘One day into your month long friendship trial and you are looking for more than friendship.’

  
Roger suddenly looked wary. ‘I don’t do commitment,’ he stated bluntly.

  
Crystal pulled him into a hug. Roger was tense. ‘Friendship is such a commitment for me that I subject potential mates to a month long trial but, y’ know, sometimes people are just meant to be together and I think that might apply to us.’ He released Roger. He very gently touched one of Roger’s bandaged wrists. ‘Just now let’s stop at friends, though, yeah; because you’re not in a great place for decision making right now.’

  
Roger nodded. ‘I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.’

  
‘You haven’t,’ Crystal reassured him. ‘And I’m not saying it’ll never happen, either, just not right now.’

  
Roger nodded again. ‘It’d be awkward if I got pregnant,’ he said solemnly.

  
Crystal grinned. ‘C’ m’ on then, give me the guided tour of your unexpectedly amazing house!’

  
*

  
Chester, England, 1855

  
Aunt Veronica was judging his suitability as a companion for Richard, Roger knew. He found himself rather liking her. She was matter of fact. ‘Are you Richard’s maternal or paternal aunt?’ he asked. He glanced at Richard realising that, most improperly, Richard had only introduced himself as Richard with no surname offered.

  
Aunt Veronica seemed to deduce this from Richard’s blush. ‘How very forward of you, Ritchie,’ she commented, raising one elegant eyebrow. ‘Perhaps I ought to introduce you two formally? Mr. Richard John Deacon, please meet...?’

  
‘I am Roger Meddows Taylor, at your service.’

  
‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ Richard muttered, looking embarrassed.

  
His auburn hair glinted in the candlelight and Roger thought how attractive he was. He longed to touch the little curl of hair clinging to Richard’s temple.

  
Aunt Veronica looked amused. She sipped some wine. ‘I am Richard’s paternal aunt, Mr. Taylor. His father was my dear brother.’ She delicately dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. ‘One shouldn’t have favourites, of course, but Ritchie is my favourite amongst my late brother’s children.’ She smiled fondly at Richard, who blushed again. ‘He’s always been such a sensitive boy.’

  
‘How many siblings do you have?’ Roger asked Richard.

  
‘I’m the youngest of eight,’ Richard replied.

  
‘Only one female,’ Veronica noted. ‘Ritchie is the seventh son of a seventh son.’

  
‘Goodness,’ Roger felt rather dizzy as he contemplated this. The seventh son of a seventh son was supposed to have magical powers, he reflected. Perhaps, cursed as he was, that was why he was drawn to Richard. Or perhaps it was because he was such a beautiful person inside and out. ‘I’m an only child,’ he admitted. ‘All the others died,’ he elaborated, ‘otherwise I’d be the eldest of six.’

  
‘Your parents must consider you a great blessing,’ Veronica murmured.

*

  
_Just about glad we didn’t do that thing_   
_Just about glad we didn’t have that fling_

  
Chester, England, 2010

  
‘You weren’t there for a while?’ Crystal said uncertainly as he wondered at the clothes in Roger’s walk-in wardrobe. People did collect antique clothing, of course, so Roger apparently having authentic Victorian frock-coats and items from Biba did not necessarily make him an immortal one hundred and seventy-five year old. ‘When I was... around ten... maybe; a girl sold us our ice-cream.’

  
‘Every so often I go abroad for a couple of years,’ Roger explained. ‘I travel; see a bit of the world, then when I return I claim to be a cousin or some relation of the version of me who left.’ Roger shrugged. ‘Usually I try to avoid having close friendships. It is too difficult for all sorts of reasons. You seem to be different, though...’ He picked at one of his bandages. ‘Or maybe I just...’

  
Maybe he just needed someone right now. Maybe he was lonely. Maybe he wanted a friend. Crystal had been kind; had seemed to want to know him, although not in the biblical sense, apparently, and how embarrassing that had been.

  
Crystal was trying on a leather jacket. ‘That suits you,’ Roger remarked. ‘Keep it, if you like it.’

  
*

  
Chester, England, 1855

  
Roger glanced at Richard. They had been strolling along Chester’s city walls and had paused, leaning on the wall and looking out onto the racecourse. The sun was warm on their backs. Their eyes met: Richard’s glossy green and Roger’s baby blue.

Richard looked around, determining that they were quite alone, before leaning in to kiss Roger.

  
Roger kissed him back eagerly. He had never wanted anyone or anything as much as he wanted Richard. He wanted to remove each stiff article of clothing, freeing Richard, un-wrapping him. He wanted to touch his skin; to explore every inch of him.

  
‘Is there anywhere we can go?’ Richard gasped, sounding rather desperate.

  
‘I think I know somewhere, yes.’

  
*

  
_Just about glad we didn’t give it a try_   
_Just about glad_   
_Is that a tear in your eye?_

  
Chester, England, 2010

  
The house felt too big, too empty once Crystal had gone. He had taken the leather jacket and Roger was glad. It had looked good on him.

  
Roger wandered into the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. It was probably too early but it wasn’t as if it was going to kill him.

  
Nothing was ever going to kill him.

  
He looked around, thinking back to that long ago day in August 1855 when he had brought Richard Deacon here, back when the house had been half-built and abandoned due to a lack of funds on the part of the builder. They had made love in this room, on a nest of old sheets which had been covering a few pieces of furniture, illuminated in a shaft of dusty sunlight.

  
Afterwards, lying entwined in contented bliss they had discussed how they would finish and furnish the house if it were theirs.

  
Now, the pain of losing Richard hit Roger again with full force. He sank to his knees howling like a wounded animal. Richard had been his love, his light, his reason for living for seventy-four glorious years and Roger felt overcome with loss.

  
Time, of which he had an unlimited supply, had not helped as much as he would have liked; as much as he needed.

  
*

  
Chester, England, 1860

  
Richard had opened a shop in one of Chester’s historic ‘rows’: medieval timbered buildings with shops at ground level and also off covered walk-ways at a higher level. Richard had an ‘upstairs’ shop which sold clothes for gentlemen.

  
Richard had a good eye for what suited people and a keen interest in fashion. Aunt Veronica had helped him financially at first. ‘I’m so pleased you are settling in Chester, Ritchie, dear,’ she had said, ‘it is such a lovely place for me to visit! Roger is a darling; I’m so glad you have such a sweet friend.’

  
Richard’s shop was soon making a profit and that plus Roger’s income from the guest-house and the ice-cream kiosk allowed them to save up and eventually buy the abandoned house they had first become intimate in. Aunt Veronica thoroughly approved of the house too. ‘You must get a boat of course otherwise there is simply no point in living so close to the river.’

  
*

  
_The greatest lover that you never had_   
_I’m just about glad_

  
Chester, England, 2010

  
Roger lay flat in the bottom of the rowing boat. He was cold.

  
It was not their boat; that was long gone: smashed by Roger in a rage of grief not long after Richard’s death. It made no difference: he could still imagine them both here, coupled together as the boat gently rocked. He missed the weight of Richard lying on top of him; the feel of his warm skin; his hair tickling Roger’s cheek; the way they fit together perfectly. He wept, lying alone and cold at the bottom of the boat.

  
*

  
Florence, Italy, 1874

  
Richard celebrated his thirty-eighth birthday in Florence. They sat outside a small cafe with glasses of wine as the sun set. The day was still warm.

  
Roger was a year older than Richard and despite Richard’s youthful good looks Roger still appeared to be at least ten years younger. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Roger was, in fact, cursed.

  
He had told Richard many years earlier. He had told Richard that he believed that he was cursed. ‘I know that sounds silly...’

  
Richard had never made him feel silly though.

  
Richard had listened carefully to Roger’s fears. He had hugged Roger and told him that he loved him.

  
Two years later on Richard’s fortieth birthday he had suggested that Roger ought to leave him. ‘You should go now, Rog, before I get really decrepit.’

  
‘You’re hardly decrepit!’ Roger had protested, truthfully. ‘You don’t look your age either.’ He had kissed Richard. ‘I’ll never leave you.’

  
*

  
_And there I was just waiting to fall_   
_Like a toe just aching to stub_

  
Chester, England, 2010

  
Crystal had taken to visiting Roger most days. He told himself it was because Roger’s house was peaceful, whereas his shared accommodation was noisy. He was not getting attached to Roger. He simply liked Roger’s calm, beautiful, clean house.

  
Roger’s house with some very old photographs of Roger with various people on display. It clearly was not actually Roger in those photographs of course because that would make Roger one hundred and seventy-five years old which was impossible. It was simply an ancestor of Roger’s who looked uncannily like him.

  
In many of the photographs there was a man with (the man who looked like) Roger who aged as (the man who looked like) Roger stayed the same. ‘That’s Richard,’ Roger said, finding Crystal examining one of the photographs on top of the piano. Roger’s voice cracked. ‘He died in 1929 aged ninety-three. We were together for seventy-four years.’

  
Crystal wished Roger would stop saying things like that. He wondered if grief had triggered the delusion Roger was evidently suffering from.

  
Roger blew his nose. He regarded Crystal sadly. ‘You still think I’m crazy.’

  
‘I think you are ill,’ Crystal said, ‘and I can arrange help for you, if you would like me to?’

  
Roger shook his head. ‘Thank you, but no. You can still walk away from the crazy man, you know.’

  
‘I know. I might.’

  
They both knew he would not.

  
*

  
Bournemouth, England, 1890

  
To the eyes of the world Roger had become Richard’s nephew.

  
Richard himself had ceased to be a nephew following the death of his aunt Veronica. Richard’s siblings had been furious that Richard had inherited her wealth and only his sister and one of his brothers were still on speaking terms with him.

  
Roger was fascinated by fifty-four year old Richard’s face: his fingertips gently tracing wrinkles. ‘What do you think I would look like now if I was normal?’ he mused, straddling Richard on the bed in their hotel room. They had gone to Bournemouth. Roger wanted to stroll along the promenade; paddle along the beach.

  
‘You’d be beautiful,’ Richard said, adding gloomily, ‘not saggy and wrinkly like me.’

  
‘I’m un-natural,’ Roger pointed out, ‘and you are still gorgeous.

’  
Richard sighed. ‘You know, if you want someone younger...’

  
‘I want you: only you, always.’

  
*

  
_I’m just about glad I can look you in the eye_   
_But I can’t say the same for you_

  
Chester, England, 2010

  
Crystal had looked up Richard Deacon. He had been born on the nineteenth of August 1836. He had died on the thirty-first of October 1929. He had owned a shop in Chester. He was buried here. Crystal had visited his well-tended grave. It had fresh flowers on it.

  
So Roger was fixated on a real person.

  
Crystal sighed. He was not sure why he could not just leave Roger alone. Perhaps it was because Roger seemed so solitary and really would be alone.

  
When he started to look up census records he knew he was in real trouble.

  
Roger first appeared in the 1841 census aged six with his parents. Except it could not be Roger. It must be an ancestor of his.  
By 1861 Roger was named as an occupant of his current house with Richard Deacon. In 1881 a Meddows Taylor was recorded as an occupant of the house instead of Roger Taylor. He was listed as Richard Deacon’s nephew. Richard Deacon had remained in the house up until the 1921 census. There were some gaps presumably when he had been away from home. His companions varied: Taylor Rogers; Taylor Meddows; Meddows Roger. (Roger had evidently not been particularly inventive when it came to names.)

  
It could not be his Roger, of course. It meant nothing, Crystal thought. Roger had taken an interest in this Mr. Deacon to the point of buying his old house, apparently, and had clearly noticed his string of companions and invented a story to fit.

  
The name changes had continued up until 1991, which was the last census Crystal looked at. It meant nothing, he told himself again. Roger could not possibly be one hundred and seventy-five years old. People did not get cursed by witches. People were not immortal.

  
Crystal felt out of his depth.

  
*

  
Chester, England, 1901

  
It was a census year. Roger had become adept at forging paperwork now: new birth certificates and travel passes in whatever name he was using at the time.

  
The first time he had needed new papers he had consulted a professional forger. He had paid for tuition. He had realised it was best if he could create new identities for himself.

  
‘The census takers must think I prey on young men,’ Richard grumbled.

  
‘They only look at the overall numbers,’ Roger assured him. ‘How many per household on average and so on.’ He had kissed Richard. ‘Anyway, you do prey on a young man!’

  
Richard squeezed Roger’s bum. ‘I am faithful and loving to one fool who does not deserve me, actually. Also, you are older than me.’ He pulled Roger close for another kiss.

  
*

  
_I’m just about glad that we never did_   
_That thing that we were going to do_

  
Chester, England, 2010

  
Crystal tiredly made his way to Roger’s house. When Roger answered the door with a cheerful, ‘Hi, Crys, come in,’ Crystal burst into tears.

  
Roger gently drew him inside and closed the door. ‘Oh, there now... Come here...’ Roger murmured, drawing Crystal into a hug.

  
Roger was all about one night stands and acquaintances. It was too difficult having friends and since Richard’s death he had not had another long-term lover. There were many skills he had perfected over his long lifetime but comforting a distressed friend was not one of them.

  
‘Please don’t cry!’ he begged Crystal. ‘What’s wrong? Are you hurt?’

  
Roger steered Crystal into the kitchen and settled him in the battered armchair by the stove. Crystal was gasping, crying so hard he could barely breathe. Unsure how he could help, Roger put the kettle on. If in doubt, make tea. Or should he be pouring Crystal a medicinal brandy? Did he have any brandy?

  
‘S... Sorry,’ Crystal sobbed, ‘Bad day at work.

’  
Roger bit his lip. Should he say something? What could he say?

  
Crystal added, ‘It was a car crash. Two little girls, Rog, and we couldn’t save them.’

  
Roger gently pushed Crystal over so he could squeeze onto the chair with him. He had no idea what to say but he could at least cuddle Crystal. Crystal nestled against him and wept.

  
Once the kettle had boiled Roger got up to make tea.

  
‘I felt useless,’ Crystal sniffled.

  
‘Well, that’s just nonsense,’ Roger returned to Crystal’s side, ‘You help people every day.’ He kissed Crystal’s forehead. ‘You do good, useful, work.’

  
Crystal shook his head and opened his mouth to disagree. Roger kissed his lips. ‘The world is a better place with you in it,’ Roger said firmly as he drew away from Crystal.

  
Roger occupied himself with making tea. He put sugar in Crystal’s tea, for shock. Crystal was useful and practical. Roger sold ice-cream. In one hundred and seventy-five years all Roger had done was rot people’s teeth and give them ice-cream headaches.

  
‘I don’t normally cry,’ Crystal muttered, accepting the offered mug of tea. ‘Thanks.’ He sipped it and made a face. ‘This is too sweet.’

  
‘You need sweetening.’ Roger rather awkwardly patted Crystal’s hand. He was now sitting on the arm of the chair. ‘There’s no shame in crying. If I’ve learned anything in all these years then it’s that.’

  
Crystal sniffed. ‘Yeah, thanks ancient guru.’

  
‘You mock, but I shall rise above that.’ Roger kissed Crystal’s forehead again. ‘You’ll stay the night?’

  
Crystal hadn’t realised how much he wanted to stay until Roger asked. He nodded.

  
*

  
Roger wondered what the hell he was doing: no one but him had slept in the house since Richard’s death.

  
During the Second World War evacuees had lived in the guest house but no one had invaded Roger’s house. The evacuees had not stayed long. They had gone back to Liverpool during a lull in bombing raids and when they were re-evacuated Wales had seemed a safer option than Chester.

  
By then the guest house had been run by Richard’s great-niece and great-nephew, the descendants of the brother and sister who had remained on speaking terms with him (and Roger) following Aunt Veronica’s decision to leave Richard her money.

  
Roger reflected that he was getting much too close to Crystal. He had felt drawn to him in the hospital. He wondered if it was part of the magic. The witch had said he would have people to help him. Perhaps that applied even if Roger didn’t think he needed anyone.

  
‘I’ll make up a bed for you.’

  
‘Could I stay with you?’ Crystal blurted out. He flushed with embarrassment. ‘Sorry, I... Forget I said that... I should go...’

  
‘Stay with me,’ Roger said. He stroked Crystal’s hair. ‘We can snuggle.’

  
*

  
Chester, England, 2018

  
Richard’s great-great-whatever niece Laura ran the guest-house (she preferred the term ‘boutique hotel’) for Roger and Richard’s great-great-whatever nephew Robbie ran the ice-cream kiosk. Roger often still made the ice-cream and frequently worked in the kiosk selling it. Both Laura and Robbie knew that Roger was immortal. Both still called him uncle Rog although Laura was now fifty and Robbie was forty-two so they looked considerably older than Roger did.

  
‘A model agency has booked all our rooms for two weeks at the end of October,’ Laura informed Roger over coffee in Roger’s kitchen. ‘They are doing a fashion shoot.’

  
Roger smiled. ‘Well done securing that booking.’

  
*

  
Chester, England, 2010

  
Laura studied Roger. She glanced at his bandaged wrists.

  
Three weeks had passed since Roger had met Crystal. Two days had passed since Crystal had cuddled up to him in bed. One week left until Crystal decided if they could be friends.

  
‘I’m fine,’ Roger told her.

  
‘When Rob was out jogging he saw a man leaving your house the other morning,’ Laura said calmly. ‘You don’t usually bring your one night stands here?’

  
Roger sighed. ‘I seem to be in the process of making a friend.’

  
Laura beamed at him. ‘That’s lovely. Who is he?’

  
So Roger told her about Crystal. She paled a little when he mentioned that Crystal had bandaged his cut wrists. ‘Uncle Rog...’

  
‘I’m fine.’

  
‘You slit your wrists,’ she stated bluntly. Her green eyes (so like Richard’s eyes echoing down through time) bored into him.

‘You slit your wrists knowing it wouldn’t kill you.’

  
‘I live in hope?’ he joked weakly and flinched as she slammed her hand down hard on the table.

  
‘Do not joke about this,’ she growled.

  
‘Every now and then it gets too much and I check to see if I am definitely still trapped here,’ Roger mumbled.

  
‘You’ve done this before?’ Laura screeched.

  
*

  
Chester, England, 1929

  
Once he had destroyed their boat Roger sank with it.

  
He felt his lungs burning, desperate for air. He had lost consciousness, drifting down, down, down.

  
When he awakened he was cold and wet and had washed up on the muddy river bank. It was a long trudge back to his house.

  
*

  
_And it’s all just a stupid creation_   
_Of my feverish imagination_

  
Chester, England, 2010

  
‘Your month is up,’ Roger noted, offering Crystal more pasta. They were sitting at Roger’s kitchen table. ‘Are we officially friends?’

  
Roger was rather shocked by how much he needed the answer to be yes.

  
He managed fine on his own. He did not need other people. He did not need the heartbreak when they died.

  
Yet he apparently needed Crystal.

  
‘Yes,’ Crystal replied.

  
Roger smiled. ‘Just: yes? I thought you might have conditions?’

  
Crystal mopped sauce from his plate with a hunk of bread. ‘No. This is unconditional. Once you’re in; you’re in. It’s an exclusive club.’

  
‘I’m honoured.’ Roger said solemnly. He was shaken by how overjoyed he felt.

  
‘You certainly are, babe!’

  
Roger raised an eyebrow at the ‘babe’. ‘So: just friends?’

  
Crystal flushed, ‘Yes, just friends, for now, at least.'

  
*

  
_And though the passion still flutters and flickers_   
_It never got into our knickers_

  
Chester, England, 2018

  
Sometimes Roger wondered what it would have been like to fuck Crystal. There was a definite spark between them. It had never happened, however, and now Roger suspected they were both too scared of fucking up what they had: their funny, maddening, joyous friendship.

  
On the whole he did not regret not having had sex with Crystal. Sometimes he did wonder what it would have been like though. Epic, he suspected.

  
He thought this as he sat by the river waiting for Crystal to arrive after his shift. It was late October and bloody cold and he ought to have chosen a cosy indoor meeting place rather than the kiosk, which was closed for winter.

  
Still, at least there was some entertainment: the models staying in his guest house were posing by the river. They were kitted out in black and white. Roger thought they must be freezing. A slight man with long dark hair was ordering everyone about. Roger found him mesmerising: he had real presence. Roger thought of him as The General.

  
The photographer was long and lean with dramatic dark curls. Occasionally he argued with The General but as far as Roger could tell The General usually won.

  
Snatches of their conversations reached him.

  
‘...no, darling, hold it like this...’

  
‘...better light...’

  
‘...the fuck is Deaky with the coffees...’

  
Roger saw Crystal approaching from behind The General. He stood, brushing down his jeans. Another man was approaching too, clutching two cardboard trays of coffee cups.

  
*

  
The General noted Roger for the first time. ‘An angel!’ he exclaimed.

  
Crystal raised his hand, waving to Roger.

  
Roger stared at the coffee-carrying assistant.

  
‘Richard,’ Roger breathed.

  
The world tilted. The ground rushed towards him.


	2. The Wishing Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics scattered throughout are from Just About Glad by Elvis Costello.

_And on the few times I rang to propose_  
_There was a man there, or so I suppose_

  
Chester, England, 2018

  
The angel looked as if he had seen a ghost and had then collapsed.

  
Freddie turned to see what the angel had been looking at and saw Deaky finally arriving with the coffees and a man who was now running towards the fallen angel. Freddie headed for the angel too.

  
*

  
Crystal dropped to his knees next to Roger. ‘Rog? Can you hear me?’ He glanced up irritably at the dark-haired dandy who was also peering down at Roger. ‘Give him some space, please,’ Crystal growled.

  
‘He has ample space, dear,’ the man said, crouching next to Roger. ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he cooed as Roger’s eyes fluttered open.

  
‘Hey,’ Crystal said softly, ‘you’re okay, mate.’

  
*

  
‘Do you know this man?’ The General demanded, indicating Crystal.

  
Roger sat up, feeling Crystal’s arms circle him. He leaned back against Crystal, safe in his protective embrace. ‘Never seen him before in my life,’ he replied cheerfully. He had never had two men fighting over him before. New experiences were rare. Plus this meant he did not have to think about Richard.

  
The man who looked like Richard could not be Richard. Richard was dead.

  
‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ The General decided.

  
‘Oh, no, that is not necessary!’ Roger protested.

  
Crystal snorted. ‘Yeah, do that. I’ll just leave him in your capable hands, shall I?’

  
‘You wouldn’t!’ Roger hissed.

  
‘Watch me,’ Crystal muttered.

  
Roger sighed. ‘Yes, I do know this man,’ he admitted. ‘He is a nurse so there is no need to call an ambulance.’

  
Crystal launched into a series of questions: do you feel dizzy; sick; does anything hurt?

  
‘He looks like Richard,’ Roger muttered, trying to explain to Crystal why he had fainted.

  
*

  
Crystal followed Roger’s gaze. The man hovering behind the dark-haired dandy did indeed look uncannily like the man who featured in so many of Roger’s photographs.

  
‘Richard is my middle name,’ this man volunteered, ‘John Richard Deacon, but everyone calls me Deaky.’

Crystal held Roger a little tighter. ‘Deacon: are you related to the lady who runs the guest-house?’ Surely he had to be? It could not be a coincidence that a Mr. Deacon the spitting image of Roger’s Mr. Deacon was here.

  
‘She asked that,’ John Richard Deacon said. He looked a little uneasy.

  
‘You look very like someone Roger,’ (is weirdly obsessed with, although Roger had not aged in all the years Crystal had known him, but some people were youthful and maybe some people were cursed as sensible Laura and steady Robbie certainly seemed to think) ‘used to know,’ Crystal explained.

  
Roger wriggled in Crystal’s arms. ‘I’m fine,’ he assured Crystal.

  
‘Stand up slowly,’ Crystal instructed him. He helped Roger to his feet. He kept his arm around Roger’s waist. He told himself this was because Roger was wobbly. He knew it was at least in part a declaration that Roger was his.

  
But Roger was not his. They were friends.

  
And now Roger had met a man who looked exactly like the love of his life.

  
*

  
The dandy reached out towards Roger’s face. ‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, ‘Angelic.’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘Have you ever considered modelling Mr....?’

  
‘Taylor. Roger Taylor. Please call me Roger,’ Roger replied.

  
‘I am delighted to meet you, Roger. I am Freddie; this is our photographer, Brian, and my assistant, John.’ Freddie glanced at Deaky. ‘Let’s call it a day, dears, shall we?’ He smiled at Roger. ‘Perhaps you and your friend would care to join us for dinner?’

  
‘That’d be lovely,’ Roger said.

  
Crystal wanted to scream. He was supposed to be having dinner alone with Roger not with Roger and these random strangers.

  
The photographer was unhappy too. ‘We’ve got good light at the moment, Fred,’ he objected.

  
Freddie waved a dismissive hand. ‘We’ll have good light tomorrow too, dear.’

  
*

  
They ate at the trendy new place that had opened near the guest-house and Crystal supposed that at least the food was good. Roger and Freddie had hit it off and were chattering away non-stop. The photographer, Brian, was trying to make polite conversation with Crystal who appreciated the effort but he was tired and he was worried about Roger, whose eyes kept wandering towards John Richard Deacon. Crystal felt that sitting here politely having a meal was taking an enormous effort on his part. John Richard Deacon was very quiet, he noted. He suspected that he might just be a quiet person.

  
Crystal heard his name: Freddie was asking Roger how he had met Crystal. Roger glanced at Crystal. ‘He bandaged my wrists after I tried to kill myself,’ Roger said matter-of-factly. He sipped some wine. ‘As it happens, I’m immortal, so no harm done.’

There was uneasy laughter.

  
*

  
Chester, England, 2010

  
Roger should have scars on his wrists: a constant reminder of that time in his life. Yet Roger’s wrists had healed completely.

That wasn’t normal.

  
Crystal had searched for a rare medical condition to explain it. He had failed to find one. Of course, he told himself, that didn’t mean Roger did not have a rare medical condition giving him amazing healing powers.

  
*

  
Chester, England, 2018

  
It seemed unlikely that Roger had a rare medical condition that slowed ageing and healed deep cuts so completely they did not scar and yet it was the only rational explanation. Crystal glanced at Roger who had thrown his head back, laughing at some comment of Freddie’s. Or perhaps Roger had been cursed by a witch and was immortal.

  
‘Are you two a couple?’ Deaky asked Crystal abruptly.

  
So it was straight to the point with this one, then. Crystal wished he could say yes. ‘No, we’re friends.’ Did John look relieved? Crystal added, ‘I rent a room in his house.’ For some reason he wanted John to know they lived together, despite not being a couple. ‘How about you, are you in a relationship?’ he asked. Please say yes.

  
Deaky shook his head. Freddie had evidently overheard. ‘Oh, darling Deaky has just gone through the most traumatic break-up ever! Poor love. This change of scene will help though.’

  
*

  
‘It’s uncanny,’ Roger observed later, as he walked home with Crystal. ‘He looks so like Ritchie. He even tilts his head the same way. His smile is the same. And you know when I first met Rich, he introduced himself as Richard only but John gave his full name! That has to be some kind of sign, doesn’t it; a part of the magic?’

  
Crystal didn’t see why. ‘Keep your voice down,’ he hissed, ‘people will think you are crazy!’

  
Roger looked around. ‘There’s no one about.’ He wondered if Crystal still thought he was crazy. Roger suspected Crystal was trying to persuade himself Roger was just blessed with excellent genes and youthful good looks. Would he have to know Roger for twenty years to accept it? He fought the urge to apologise to Crystal: Roger knew he was not an easy person to like. ‘I’m sorry if you hated this evening,’ he offered instead, ‘I was just intrigued by them.’

  
Crystal sighed. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’

  
*

  
Being told you looked exactly like someone else was disconcerting, John thought. He supposed everyone liked to think they were unique.

  
The way Roger had been staring at him during dinner had been un-nerving too. John was not sure what to make of Roger. He was lovely to look at but there was something other-worldly about him, something untouchable and distant.

  
Now, back at their hotel, Freddie was telling the landlady, Laura, about their encounter with Roger. Laura nodded. ‘He owns this place,’ she informed them. She glanced at John. ‘The person you look like is a distant relative of mine. From the photos I’ve seen the likeness is astonishing. No wonder Roger was shocked.’ Laura looked concerned. ‘Is Crystal with him?’

  
‘Yes, dear, and we took good care of him,’ Freddie assured her. ‘He’s really very pretty. Do you think he could be persuaded to model for us? That ethereal quality he has would be perfect for our Halloween shoot.’

  
Laura laughed. ‘You’ll have to ask him but I suspect he would love that!’

  
*

  
It was Crystal who opened the door. ‘Darling,’ Freddie exclaimed, ‘I do hope you don’t mind the intrusion? Is Roger in? Fabulous house, dear.’

  
Crystal did mind the intrusion. He minded the intrusion very much. ‘How did you find us?’ he wondered.

  
‘Lovely Laura at the hotel directed us here,’ Freddie explained. John, standing behind him remained silent.

  
‘Who is it, Crys?’ Roger asked. ‘Oh! Freddie, John! How lovely, come in!’

  
Crystal was afraid he might be glowering as he stood aside to allow them in. Freddie looked smug. At least John looked apprehensive. He had the right idea: apprehension about Roger was good. A little voice in Crystal’s head asked if John might actually be apprehensive about Crystal: Roger’s rude and sulky companion. Well, Crystal thought crossly, let John be apprehensive about him! If any of them hurt Roger he would kill them.

  
Crystal jumped slightly as Roger touched his arm. ‘You can close the front door now, Crys. Are you okay?’

  
‘Yeah, I’m fine, just... I was miles away, sorry...’

  
‘No need to be sorry. Will you come and have tea with us?’ Roger asked.

  
Part of Crystal wanted to say no. He could easily make an excuse. A stronger part of him wanted to guard Roger from the visitors. Last night had stirred up his unease about Roger’s mysteriously healed wrists and his unease about Roger having cut them in the first place. Roger had been doing fine. They had been fine. Freddie and John threatened that peace. So Crystal nodded and followed Roger to the kitchen.

  
Freddie was enthusing about the house. ‘This is just gorgeous, darling! Is it all yours?’

  
‘Yes,’ Roger put the kettle on. ‘I was very lucky: I got this place when it needed a lot of work and had been abandoned.’

  
‘It’s amazing darling! The light is superb! Would you consider allowing us to take some shots here? I was also wondering if you would allow us to photograph you, my dear.’

  
Well, he had blown it, Crystal thought smugly, giving a little mental sigh of relief. Roger did not allow people in the house. He waited for Roger to demolish Freddie’s hopes.

  
‘Certain areas of the house would be off-limits,’ Roger said cautiously.

  
‘Oh, naturally, darling, it’s your home, I quite understand,’ Freddie agreed.

  
What the fuck was Roger playing at? Crystal tried to catch Roger’s eye but the kettle had come to the boil and he was turning away to make tea.

  
‘I’ve never done any modelling,’ Roger said. He sounded almost shy.

  
A new fucking experience, Crystal thought grimly. Roger loved trying new things.

  
‘Oh, you’ll be just wonderful,’ Freddie gushed, ‘I can tell!’

  
‘I’d like to try it,’ Roger said.

  
Roger looked so sweet, Crystal thought, standing there with the kettle in one hand surrounding him in wreaths of steam and with his freshly washed blond hair curling softly round his face. He looked like a painting of an angel. Crystal had a horrible feeling this was going to end in tears but he would not have been able to refuse Roger this chance even if it had been in his power to do so. If Roger wanted this then Crystal would support him every step of the way, whatever it took.

  
He ignored the voice in his head asking if he would support Roger if Roger wanted John.

  
*

  
Chester, England, 2010

  
Crystal had started spending at least one night a week with Roger. Often, but not always, sharing Roger’s bed, although it was all very innocent.

  
‘Why don’t you just move in?’ Roger asked sleepily one morning.

  
‘I couldn’t...’ Crystal muttered, winding a lock of Roger’s golden hair around his finger.

  
‘Why couldn’t you?’ Roger asked, fully alert now. ‘You hate your digs; I have ample room here; I don’t mind your company; you don’t seem to mind my company. Where is the problem?’

  
And when Roger put it like that... ‘What if I wanted to have a party?’

  
‘Do you ever have parties?’ Roger asked. His blue eyes twinkled.

  
‘No, but... I do have other friends. I’d potentially want to ask them round.’

  
Roger frowned. ‘I could probably handle that, although I wouldn’t be keen on anyone staying the night.’ He smiled at Crystal. ‘I trust you. I never thought I would have anyone else staying here ever again yet here you are. If I didn’t think I could cope I wouldn’t have asked you, babe.’

  
So Crystal moved in.

  
He had his own set of rooms: a small sitting room and a bedroom with a bathroom between them. He almost always shared Roger’s bed and they lived mainly in the cosy kitchen. Crystal very rarely brought anyone home. He met friends in pubs or restaurants or their homes. His occasional one night stands were always at their places, as were Roger’s infrequent romantic liaisons.

  
Both of them felt lonely if they slept solo in their own beds. Neither of them would admit that.

  
They were friends.

  
Close friends.

  
That was all.

  
*

  
_And you said that my nurse was sweet_  
_But her lamp was just beginning to dim_

  
Chester, England, 2018

  
Crystal yawned. He’d just come off night duty to find Freddie and his gang filling the house.

  
The curly haired photographer groaned as Crystal entered the kitchen. ‘Well, that shot is ruined!’ he huffed, flinging his hands up in disgust.

  
Crystal scowled at him. ‘My fucking breakfast looks set to be wrecked too, mate!’ He was too tired to be polite. The thumping music was giving him a headache.

  
‘Crys?’ Roger appeared, half-naked with streaks of paint on his face and feathers in his hair. He looked worried. ‘I’m so sorry...’

  
‘Deaky!’ Freddie bawled, ‘Take Crystal out and buy him breakfast!’

  
John was next to him instantly, grasping his elbow and gently steering him towards the front door and out of his own fucking house. He jerked out of John’s grip. ‘Fuck off!’ He stormed upstairs and locked himself in his room.

  
*

  
Roger was wide-eyed. ‘Oh, he won’t want to go out! Perhaps this was a mistake?’

  
‘No, no, darling,’ Freddie soothed him. ‘Crystal will be just fine. Deaky will take good care of him. Everyone adores Deaks. Come over here, angel, and if you could just perch here...’

  
Roger obligingly perched on a small step-ladder in a corner of the kitchen. Freddie draped a feather boa around his neck.

‘Swish, darling!’ Freddie instructed Roger.

  
Roger swished the feather boa and laughed, feeling ridiculous but kind of gloriously ridiculous.

  
‘That’s right, sweetheart, you look gorgeous,’ Freddie approved. Out of the corner of his eye he saw John in the doorway looking worried. Perhaps Crystal had not been appeased after all. Well, too bloody bad. Freddie made a little shooing motion to John: the last thing he wanted was for Roger to see John and start fretting about Crystal. At least Brian was now happily giving Roger directions, clearly relishing having a beautiful new subject to capture.

  
*

  
Crystal jerked awake. It was late afternoon. He sat up, groggily running his hands through his hair. His stomach rumbled. He wondered if the circus downstairs had moved on.

  
He showered and dressed and ventured cautiously downstairs. His heart sank as he heard voices and laughter from the kitchen. He contemplated simply going out for food and going straight to work afterwards. He had to check Roger was okay though.

  
He found Freddie, the Richard lookalike, John and the curly haired photographer, Brian, sitting at the kitchen table with Roger. At least everyone else seemed to have gone home. They had evidently had fish and chips and Crystal’s stomach rumbled loudly again.

  
‘Crys!’ Roger looked happy and Crystal was reassured. Maybe company was good for him. ‘I’m sorry about this morning,’ Roger apologised.

  
Crystal shrugged. John looked anxious. ‘No worries,’ Crystal said. ‘I’ll just be off...’ He waited for Roger to protest or offer to get him fish and chips and he knew he was being silly.

  
‘Oh,’ Roger’s face fell, ‘so soon? Oh, well, I hope you have a nice quiet shift.’

  
It was ridiculous to feel hurt and unloved, Crystal knew as he left them to it. He shivered as he exchanged the warmth and light of the house for the cold dark drizzle of the night.

  
*

  
Roger frowned. ‘I think all this,’ he waved his hand vaguely in Freddie’s direction, ‘has upset him.’

  
‘If we were doing a pirate shoot, he’d be perfect,’ Freddie mused. He reached across the table and patted Roger’s hand. ‘I’m sure Crystal is fine, darling, don’t worry.’

  
Roger looked at John. ‘How was he when you took him out for breakfast?’

  
John flushed. ‘I didn’t. He refused to go. He went to his room.’ He felt terrible: Roger was so sweet and he had been relying on John to look after his friend and John had failed miserably.

  
He was surprised when Roger grinned.

  
‘Was he acting like a stroppy teenager?’ Roger beamed. ‘Ammunition for the next time he tells me I’m being childish!’ he explained to John’s confused face. A little crease appeared between John’s eyes when he was confused and it mirrored the look Richard had if he had been anxious or perplexed.

  
There were differences of course. John’s hair was darker with less red through it than Richard’s. Richard’s ears had stuck out more, which he had been very self-conscious about and which Roger had adored. John was not Richard, Roger knew that, but John still looked very cute when he was confused.

  
Roger would tease Crystal about flouncing off to his room like a dramatic teenager but he was also concerned about him. Crystal was not given to dramatic gestures: that was more Roger’s thing.

  
‘I think he felt we had taken over his home,’ John suggested softly.

  
‘I suppose we did,’ Brian noted. He looked guilty. ‘I shouldn’t have snapped at him when he came in here.’

  
Roger realised that Crystal had not eaten all day and felt awful. He sighed. ‘I’ll have to be nice to him now.’

  
‘Well, we will be shooting down by the river tomorrow,’ Freddie noted, ‘so he can have the whole house to himself.’ He smiled at Roger. ‘Did you enjoy yourself today?’

  
Roger nodded. ‘Yes, I loved it! Thank you.’

  
‘We should get going,’ Brian said. ‘We’ve taken up enough of your time, Roger.’

  
Roger shook his head. ‘No, please, I’m enjoying your company. Let’s open a bottle of wine.’

  
*

  
They had just started on their second bottle when Freddie asked, ‘Do you have any photos of the person John looks like, dear?’

  
Shit.

  
Yes, Roger did have photographs of Richard. The earliest dated from 1861 and the latest was from 1924.

  
This was exactly why Roger did not allow anyone to get too close to him. ‘I don’t think I do, sorry.’

  
They all looked disappointed and Freddie looked suspicious.

  
*

  
John was disappointed. He had hoped to see his doppelganger. He had kind of hoped he would look nothing like this mysterious Richard Deacon bloke.

  
*

  
The angel was telling lies, Freddie thought. He excused himself to go to the loo and went to hunt for photographs.

  
*

  
When Crystal wearily trailed in after his nightshift the following morning they were all still sitting around the kitchen table. This time there were empty wine bottles and glasses and mugs on the table rather than the remains of fish suppers.

  
Roger looked like he had been crying. Crystal felt his heart clench.  
Then he saw the photographs.

  
There, laid out on the table like a tarot card spread, were all the photographs of Roger and Richard that usually sat on top of the piano in the sitting room. They had been removed from their frames which lay in a heap on an unoccupied chair.

  
Freddie cleared his throat. He looked like he might have been crying too. ‘Good morning, dear,’ he greeted Crystal. ‘Roger tells us he is one hundred and eighty-three years old; cursed to immortality.’

  
Crystal nodded tiredly. ‘Yeah, I mean, he could be a mad fantasist but having known him for around eight years now and with him not having aged at all during that time I’m kinda coming to the conclusion that he is telling the truth.’ He waved his hand at the photographs. ‘If he is living in a fantasy world then he is displaying an astonishing attention to detail and has carried out some meticulous research.’

  
‘But the whole thing is preposterous!’ the photographer objected.

  
‘I think I’d like you to leave now,’ Roger mumbled. Everyone ignored him.

  
‘In your professional opinion do you think these photographs have been doctored?’ Crystal asked Brian.

  
Brian looked taken aback. ‘Well, no, but it can’t be Roger in them! It is just someone who looks like him,’ he said, sounding like he was explaining this to a very small child.

  
Crystal moved so he was standing behind Roger and gently clasped his shoulder. Roger sighed. ‘Believe it or don’t believe it. I don’t care. Now, please leave.’ Roger’s voice was shaking.

  
‘You heard him,’ Crystal growled.

  
Freddie stood and the photographer and assistant did too. ‘Well, darling, of course we’ll go if you wish,’ Freddie sounded hurt.

  
As they trooped out Roger shook Crystal’s hand from his shoulder, stood, and began to put photographs back in their frames. His hands were shaking. Crystal silently began to help him.

  
‘I should’ve known better,’ Roger muttered after a while. ‘Of course they’d be curious about Richard and of course Freddie would go snooping...’

  
Once they had replaced all of the photographs in their frames Crystal assisted Roger in putting them back where they should be around the house. Crystal was relieved to see that Freddie had apparently taken photographs from the reception rooms only and had not ventured into Roger (and Crystal’s) bedroom.

  
*

  
Crystal’s stomach growled as he adjusted the photographs that lived on top of the piano. Roger smiled sadly. ‘I’m sorry, Crystal. You don’t need all this drama when you’ve just come off a night shift. I’ll make you a bacon roll.’

  
Crystal shrugged. ‘You’ve had a hard night too. How about we freshen up then go to the cafe at the end of the street?’

  
*

  
Roger was glad he had showered and changed his clothes before going to the cafe because Freddie and Brian and John were there. He simply nodded curtly to them and followed Crystal to a table in the corner.

  
He could feel their eyes upon him as he tucked into his breakfast. However they left without acknowledging Roger or Crystal.  
Roger felt sadness wash over him. He had hoped for friendship with Freddie in particular.

  
‘Are you okay?’ Crystal asked, looking at him with concern.

  
Roger sighed. ‘I just feel silly. I thought I was meant to know them but apparently not.’

  
‘Did you think you were meant to know me?’ Crystal wondered.

  
‘Yeah,’ Roger nodded, ‘And John, well, he looks so like Ritchie,’ Roger shrugged, ‘but I must have been mistaken.’

  
Crystal reached across the table and squeezed Roger’s hand. ‘Perhaps not,’ he ventured softly, ‘I mean, it’s taken me the best part of a decade to believe you.’

  
Roger shook his head. ‘We were destined.’

  
‘Maybe it works differently with different people,’ Crystal suggested, ‘don’t give up just yet.’

  
*

  
Venice, Italy, 1896

  
Richard had always wanted to see Venice during the carnival so they went. Richard’s sixtieth birthday was approaching. Roger was officially his nephew.

  
Roger discovered that he loved Venice. The spectacle of carnival was breath-taking. The vibrant colours and flamboyance of the costumes bewitched him.

  
Richard was using a walking stick he did not actually need purely to give Roger a good excuse to link arms with him, propping up his elderly uncle.

  
They had rented rooms rather than staying in a hotel so that they could, as Roger put it, ‘romp’. Morning light was spilling in through the dusty windows illuminating Roger’s golden hair. Richard stroked his hair gently. ‘’Lo,’ Roger murmured.

  
‘Hello gorgeous,’ Richard said. He ran his hand down Roger’s bare back and Roger gave a contented little sigh. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ Richard breathed.

  
Roger kissed Richard’s chest, which his head was resting on.

  
‘You’re lazy,’ Richard said, smiling, ‘but you are exquisite.’

  
Roger’s hair tickled Richard’s chest as he turned his head. ‘I love you, Ritchie.’

  
‘I love you too, Rog.’

  
Roger reflected that at least Richard seemed to have accepted now that Roger would stay with him and still wanted him. He loved him.

  
‘Roger,’ Richard traced his fingers along Roger’s shoulder blades. ‘Do you believe in fate? Do you think we were meant for each other?’

  
‘Yes,’ Roger said, ‘do you?’

  
Richard nodded. Roger wondered if it was part of the magic: he needed Richard so there he was. He decided just to enjoy it.

  
*

  
Chester, England, 2018

  
They did not see the fashion shoot people for a few days. Crystal had expected Freddie to be more persistent in pursuing their friendship and felt sorry for Roger who had plainly been bruised by the whole experience.

  
Crystal was surprised when, three days after they had last seen the fashion crew, the photographer arrived at their door. It was Crystal’s day off and he was coming downstairs after sleeping for longer than usual when the doorbell shrilled.

  
Roger appeared from the kitchen and spotted Crystal on the stairs. ‘I’ll get it. Go back to bed, Crys, I’ll bring you a cuppa.’

  
Crystal was turning to go back upstairs when he heard Roger say, ‘Oh, it’s you.’ He came back downstairs and could see the dark curls of the photographer at the door.

  
‘Those old photographs weren’t tampered with,’ the photographer said abruptly.

  
‘As you said yourself,’ Roger noted calmly, ‘they could just depict someone who looks very like me.’

  
‘They could,’ the photographer agreed, ‘but they don’t, do they? You actually are one hundred and eighty-three years old,’ he concluded wonderingly.

  
Crystal felt a surge of irritation that this stranger had accepted the cursed immortal situation in a matter of days when Crystal had known Roger for several years and still only really believed it occasionally. He arrived at Roger’s side and placed his hand on Roger’s shoulder.

  
‘Perhaps you’d better come in,’ Roger muttered.

  
*

  
Crystal made tea and toast. The photographer, Brian, turned his mug in his hands. ‘We researched Deaky’s family tree,’ he said. ‘Richard John Deacon was his great-great-not sure how many greats actually-uncle. I looked you up, too.’ Brian’s voice sounded slightly accusatory and Crystal tensed, ready to leap into action verbally or physically if Roger needed defended.

  
‘You died in 1890. You were the only surviving child of parents who also had no living siblings. No aunts or uncles; no cousins. In short, no one who was likely to look exactly the same as you.’

  
Crystal was extremely annoyed that he had not realised that.

  
‘Besides,’ Brian looked smug, ‘you have carefully changed the ownership of the house and the guest-house over time but not the ice-cream kiosk, which has been owned by Roger Taylor ever since your father died in 1858,’ he declared triumphantly.

  
Roger stared at him. ‘It’s... It was part of the same documents as the guest-house,’ he spluttered.

  
Brian shook his head. ‘There’s a separate deed,’ he said, more gently this time.

  
Fuck.

  
Crystal should have found that.

  
He didn’t know why he had simply assumed Roger was on top of all the paperwork.

  
‘Also,’ Brian continued, ‘Freddie’s been having afternoon tea with all the little old ladies he can find, asking about local history and casually dropping you into the conversation and the little old ladies have noticed you re-inventing yourself every so often. Several of them said they thought you were a Faerie or Vampire or some other mythical creature that lives forever.’

  
Roger blushed. ‘I should’ve moved away,’ he said sadly, ‘but this is home...’

  
Crystal stretched out his arm and gently rubbed Roger’s back.

  
Brian reached across the table and placed one of his hands over one of Roger’s hands. ‘What I am trying to say is: we believe you Roger. We know you are immortal.’

  
‘And we are sorry we upset you before,’ a new voice said.

  
Crystal jumped and turned round to see Freddie and John in the kitchen doorway. He glared at them.

  
Freddie smiled. ‘The front door wasn’t completely closed,’ he said airily.

  
Brian flushed as Crystal glared at him.

  
Roger was grinning, however. ‘I knew we were meant to be friends!’

  
*

  
Chester, England, 1914-1918

  
Roger effectively spent the war dead. His properties were officially owned by an imaginary elderly relative far away in Canada.

  
A bullet could not kill him but he was not sure how well he would heal from any severe injuries (although wounds he had sustained since he had been cursed tended to heal quickly with no lasting scars or difficulties). Spending eternity with one leg (or worse) did not appeal, however, and he decided to take no chances.

  
Richard was in his late seventies at the outset of the war. When Roger felt guilty about not fighting he told himself firmly that every moment he spent with Richard was precious.

  
Confined to the house, garden and lying in the bottom of the boat, Roger found the time went by slowly. They grew vegetables to help the war effort and Richard helped at the local school.

  
The war, which brought so much loss, brought about a rapprochement with Richard’s remaining siblings. Their lives were too short for arguments over money, they said. Roger suspected that at least some of them were considering unmarried and childless brother Richard with his lovely house and thriving shop and thinking of legacies and their own children.

  
Richard’s sole sister had never stopped speaking to him and her child, Jack, now ran the shop for Richard. His brother Mark had also never fallen out with him. Mark had three sons: William, Samuel and Joseph. Only Samuel survived the war.

  
Richard and Roger told Mark and Samuel about Roger too and he helped to run the guest-house, which had been used to house convalescent soldiers during the war. Jack and Sammy’s descendants had been helping Roger ever since.

  
*

  
Chester, England, Present Day

  
The fashion crowd, as Crystal thought of them, had started to use Chester regularly for their shoots. They always stayed in the guest-house and often used Roger as a model.

  
Roger had persuaded Crystal to model too for a pirate themed shoot Freddie was doing. Crystal had spent an extremely irritating day being bossed around by Freddie and Brian in a series of increasingly ridiculous outfits (really, who would wear skin-tight scarlet silk trousers?) although he had to admit that Roger looked incredible in a similar turquoise pair of trousers.

  
Roger was full of mischief: flicking at the buttons on the black silk shirt Crystal was wearing with a horribly realistic looking sword. Surely no one would have given Roger a real sword? ‘Admit it, Crys, you’re having fun.’

  
‘I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,’ Crystal grumbled, ‘when I think of all the things I could’ve been doing on my day off...’ Roger’s hair was very becoming as its gentle waves framed his pretty face.

  
‘You usually stay in bed on your day off,’ Roger noted, ‘to the point where I fear you are depressed.’

  
‘Be careful with the antique sword, dear,’ Freddie called, ‘It’s very sharp and that shirt costs quite a lot of money!’

  
‘Fucking hell,’ Crystal muttered, ‘yes, do mind the shirt, Rog!’

  
Roger smiled sweetly (he looked so fucking innocent and angelic) and lowered his weapon.

  
‘I am not depressed,’ Crystal added, wondering if he was. ‘I am simply tired. I work hard.’

  
‘They say a change is as good as a rest,’ Roger informed him earnestly.

  
‘They are clearly idiots, whoever they are,’ Crystal grumbled. He scowled at Roger.

  
‘Perfect!’ Brian called, sending Roger and Crystal into a fit of the giggles.

  
*

  
Chester, England, 1921

  
They threw a party to celebrate Richard’s eighty-fifth birthday. Roger had few friends (intentionally) but Richard was popular.

  
It was a warm dry evening. Roger had lit the garden with lanterns that twinkled prettily. Some had coloured glass and he was pleased with the effect: the garden shimmered with light.

  
People spilled out of the house and into the garden, laughing and drinking and smoking. Music played inside the brightly lit house, also drifting out into the garden. The staff supplied by the catering company circulated with trays of food, or glasses of champagne, or cocktails.

  
‘Are you drunk, young man?’ Richard asked in amusement when he found Roger in the garden.

  
‘I’m only tipsy at the moment.’ There were too many people around to allow him to kiss Richard, Roger concluded sadly, although that did not prevent Richard from squeezing Roger’s bum and smirking when Roger gasped.

  
*

  
_Later on I could never accept it_  
_When you finally gave it all to him_

  
Chester, England, Present Day

  
Crystal carefully sorted the rubbish into the various re-cycling bins. Roger got very anxious about the environment. He had no wish to be immortal in a world unfit for human habitation.

  
Crystal heard the doorbell ring. He heard Roger laugh and deduced it was probably Freddie.

  
He was surprised to discover John in the kitchen. Crystal greeted him, adding, ‘I didn’t realise there was a shoot scheduled.’  
‘There isn’t,’ John replied with a sweet smile. ‘I have a few days off so I came up to see Laura and Robbie: get to know my extended family better.’

  
Which didn’t really explain why he was sitting at Roger’s kitchen table, Crystal thought sourly. He felt John was smirking at him but surely that must be Crystal’s imagination: John was too sweet to smirk.

  
‘Would you like to join me for dinner tonight?’ John asked.

  
‘I’d love to!’ Roger beamed. ‘It’ll be nice to catch up.’

  
‘I’m working,’ Crystal muttered.

  
‘That’s a shame,’ John sounded completely untroubled, ‘maybe next time. So it looks like it’s just us then.’ He smiled at Roger.

  
*

  
John seemed to always be there after that. He evidently got on well with Laura and Robbie. He also spent a great deal of time with Roger.

  
Crystal became resigned to coming home to find Roger and John chatting cosily in the kitchen or playing duets on the piano or sipping cocktails in the garden.

  
Then came the day Crystal had been dreading when he came in from work and found John in the hall, pressing Roger against the wall and kissing him. Crystal cleared his throat.

  
Roger blushed and gently pushed John away. ‘Crystal!’ he exclaimed. ‘I... We... John was just leaving...’

  
Crystal shrugged. ‘None of my business,’ he noted gruffly as he hurried upstairs.

  
*

  
John had left when Crystal came downstairs again. Roger was in the kitchen. ‘Are you two together?’ Crystal had to force out the words. Part of him did not want to know the answer.

  
Roger flushed again. He looked so pretty when he blushed. ‘I’m not sure,’ he confessed.

  
Crystal nodded as if this made perfect sense. ‘Do you want me to sleep in my own room?’

  
Roger looked surprised. ‘No. Why would I?’

  
‘I thought you two might be serious,’ Crystal mumbled.

  
‘We’ve kissed once,’ Roger informed him, ‘It’s not the romance of the century.’

  
*

  
A month later John had all but moved in and Crystal was firmly relegated to his own room. And Crystal liked John, he really did, and John was lovely to Roger and Crystal had never been so jealous in his life.

  
*

  
Crystal trailed in to the house after a night shift and heard laughter from the kitchen. It had been a hard night, including a teenage overdose and a woman suffering a miscarriage. Crystal was all set to sneak up to his room but Roger thwarted this plan by wandering out into the hall carrying a mug in each hand.

  
‘Morning,’ Roger smiled. He held out one of the mugs towards Crystal. It was the yellow mug Crystal liked best. ‘Tea, Crys?’

  
‘Thank you.’

  
Roger was wearing crumpled pyjamas and his hair was rumpled. ‘C’m’ on through ‘n’ I’ll make you breakfast. Did you have a rough night?’ He sounded sweet and sleepy and sympathetic and Crystal wanted to fling himself into Roger’s arms for a much needed hug. Before John he would have done just that but seeking a hug from Roger no longer felt appropriate. And Crystal was not going to analyse that; could not think about that.

  
He obediently followed Roger into the kitchen where John was sitting at the table wearing pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. ‘Hey,’ John said sleepily.

  
‘Hello,’ Crystal replied and hated how stilted he sounded.

  
John’s phone pinged and he glanced at it. ‘Oh, Freddie and the others are coming up for a photo-shoot next week.’

  
‘That’s nice,’ Roger murmured. ‘Scrambled eggs, Crys?’

  
‘Yes, please.’ Crystal was glad the others were coming: he might see more of Roger if John had to work. Then he felt selfish.

  
*

  
The message from Freddie said: Time to get off Roger’s cock and back to work, dear! Shoot next week in Chester. Book rooms with lovely Laura please.

  
John replied to ask how many people were coming so he knew how many rooms were required. He glanced at Crystal as he waited for a response. Crystal looked exhausted and dejected.

  
John wondered if he was doing the right thing. He had thought dating Roger might either have shocked Crystal into realising he was in love with Roger and motivate him to declare his love, or have led Roger to discover he actually loved Crystal, not John, and prompted him to let Crystal know that.

  
But they still seemed oblivious.

  
They had been sharing a bed for years, John thought with considerable irritation. They were literally sleeping together. They acted like a married couple. How could they not realise?

  
John adored Roger. He was funny and kind and affectionate. It was no hardship to date him. John was a little bit scared that he was in danger of falling in love with Roger. That was not part of his plan. No one was meant to get hurt. All he wanted was for Crystal and Roger to be happy.

  
And if that made Brian notice John and perhaps get a little bit jealous then that would be even better.

  
That was also looking unlikely though.

  
John sighed.

  
*

  
Roger looked at Crystal and John as he cracked eggs into a bowl. What was he doing? He wanted to hug Crystal, to look after him. As a friend, of course, but that now seemed inappropriate as he was dating John. It was confusing.

  
He decided to focus on making breakfast instead. That was an act of love for both of them.

  
*

  
London, England, Present Day

  
Crystal looked around wondering why he had agreed to come here. The room was stuffy and crowded. It was a bland hotel conference room with stalls and tables crammed close together and people milling about getting their fortunes told or buying crystals or incense or herbal remedies or jewellery.

  
‘Over here dear!’ Freddie linked arms with Crystal and pulled him over to a table in the corner of the room. ‘Come and meet Dominique.’

  
The table was draped with a crimson and gold cloth. A pack of cards sat in the centre with a clear crystal placed on top. Behind the table sat a beautiful dark-haired woman.

  
Roger and John were sitting across from her. Brian loomed behind them.

  
‘This is Crystal,’ Freddie announced, shoving Crystal forward. ‘Crystal, this is Dominique. If she can’t lift the curse on Roger then no one can!’

  
*

  
Liverpool, England, 1865

  
‘Are you sure about this?’ Roger murmured to Richard as they took their seats in the hall. The crowd seemed agitated. ‘I hear there was trouble last night.’

  
Following successful sold-out shows in London the Davenport brothers had arrived in Liverpool. Ira and William Davenport were Americans who were famous for their show where members of the public tied them up and they released themselves speedily under the direction of their spirit guides. They also held séances.

  
Roger had heard that, although the series of shows in London had been well received, on their first night in Liverpool two men selected from the audience had tied the mediums with a particularly intricate knot. Eventually the brothers had been cut free.  
‘They are known the world over,’ Richard noted. ‘If anyone can help lift your curse...’

  
Roger suspected that the Davenport brothers were non-magical escape artists but he kept his reservations to himself. It was important to Richard that Roger should seek help from them so he would do so.

  
Roger had selected seats at the back of the hall, telling Richard this was so they could slip out easily at the end of the performance and be the first at the stage door to meet the brothers. In truth, he was afraid violence would break out and wanted to be able to leave speedily if it did.

  
Roger was proven correct when a riot started when the Davenport brothers took the stage. As irate men and women hurled themselves forward Roger grabbed Richard and they fled.

  
Richard was distressed that they did not meet the Davenports who left town immediately after the incident. Roger tried to soothe Richard. ‘The witch regretted the curse,’ he pointed out, ‘I think the continuing magic,’ (the magic that had given him Richard, he reflected) ‘will eventually lead me to someone who can assist me. The Davenport brothers were not the ones,’ he concluded.

  
‘Perhaps I am being selfish,’ Richard fretted. ‘I am effectively trying to shorten your life.’

  
‘No, my love,’ Roger kissed him tenderly, ‘you want me to have a normal life; a normal life with you. It is what I wish for too.’

  
*

  
Edinburgh, Scotland, 1872

  
Roger looked around the hall: it was a magnificent setting, he thought, with high ceilings and pink marble and golden vines creeping around pillars, although he was not looking forward to the walk back up a steep hill to their lodgings. He felt Richard squeeze his thigh surreptitiously and smiled at him. ‘I hear she is very good,’ Richard murmured.

  
Roger nodded. She had certainly drawn a large crowd. She turned out to be a slight woman with brown hair coiled on top of her head. She wore a demure dark dress.

  
She elicited gasps from the audience due to the knowledge of their lives she seemed to have. Roger thought that perhaps she was the real deal.

  
Her gaze rested on Roger for a moment and she looked troubled. She moved on, however, to give a message from the spirit world to a woman in the row in front of Roger and Richard.

  
Afterwards, everyone wanted to meet her and crowded towards the stage. Her brothers fended off the crowd. Richard looked despairingly at Roger. ‘We must see her!’ he cried.

  
She suddenly emerged from behind one of her strapping brothers. ‘Sir,’ she said, holding out her hand to Roger. Roger gently took her hand and bent his head to brush his lips against it. Her brothers were scowling at him.

  
Roger straightened up and their eyes met. Hers were a startling violet shade.

  
‘She says she is sorry, but it will take a very long time,’ the woman told Roger dreamily.

  
‘Thank you, my dear,’ Roger said. He hastily pulled Richard away as the woman’s brothers looked murderous and Richard looked mutinous.

  
‘That cannot be all!’ Richard protested. ‘Have you no magic yourself? Are you not a witch?’

  
The crowd around them gasped at this last comment. The brothers looked outraged.

  
‘Are you trying to get us killed?’ Roger hissed, ‘It was a perfectly clear message!’

  
*

  
Chester, England, 1917

  
Richard had become excited by the photographs of the Cottingley Faeries. ‘We always knew magic existed, of course,’ he reminded Roger, his eyes gleaming. ‘Now the rest of the world will know it too!’

  
Richard explained to Roger that he had made contact with a spiritualist-medium in Lincoln. ‘She is the best there is,’ he insisted, ‘and she is coming here to see us.’

  
Mrs. Lane was older than Roger had expected. She looked exhausted. Richard had paid her train fares and she was staying free of charge in the guest-house.

  
She shuddered when she saw Roger.

  
‘Oh,’ she said, sounding dismayed, ‘no,’ she shook her head, ‘I cannot help you,’ she told them. ‘You need a powerful witch to sort out the mess you are in.’ She sighed.

  
They were sitting at the kitchen table. Roger felt Richard tense next to him. He sighed, knowing Richard was about to demand the impossible from the poor woman.

  
Before Richard could speak, however, Mrs. Lane slumped forward. Roger frowned: had she fainted? He was about to ask if she was okay (although she plainly was not) when she spoke.

  
Her voice had altered.

  
Roger recognised the voice speaking now as the voice belonging to the witch who had cursed him.

  
‘Only True Love and a witch not yet born can help, far in the future. I am sorry.’

  
*

  
Chester, England, 1950

  
Roger sipped his tea and regarded the large woman sitting opposite him. She took a bite from her scone and stared back.  
He had chosen to meet her in a cafe rather than at the house. ‘How did you know my address?’

  
‘It was given to me,’ she replied. ‘I was instructed to write to you and ask to see you.’

  
‘When you say instructed...?’

  
She leaned forward. ‘Mr. Taylor when I was imprisoned for witchcraft,’ she snorted, ‘I was banned from conducting séances. The spirits don’t seem to know that, however.’

  
Roger nodded. ‘You understand my suspicion, Mrs. Duncan? You have been imprisoned for fraud.’

  
She nodded. ‘I understand. I may embellish the truth, Mr. Taylor, but I don’t make all of it up. Do you want to hear the message I have for you?’

  
‘Yes, please.’

  
‘She says: the witch and your True Love are not yet born and that the witch will be called Dominique.’

  
*

  
London, England, Present Day

  
Dominique was studying Roger. She sighed. Her gaze moved from Roger to John to Crystal then back to Roger. ‘Of course you have had to complicate matters,’ she grumbled.

  
‘Do you two know each other?’ Freddie gasped.

  
‘We have always been destined to meet,’ Dominique said. She clearly felt this explained everything.

  
They all looked at Roger, who shrugged infuriatingly and said, ‘It’s a long story.’ He beamed at Dominique. ‘You can help me.’

  
Dominique nodded. ‘It will not be easy,’ she warned him.

  
*

  
It sounded quite simple.

  
Roger’s True Love had to run up and down Chester’s famous wishing-steps three times while holding their breath and concentrating on the words of a spell Dominique would create for the occasion.

  
The spell had to be very precise, she explained, otherwise Roger would become mortal then immediately die of extreme old age.

  
‘You need to retain most of the second spell,’ she sighed. ‘The magic is complex. However, your True Love will need to practice the run, which will also be difficult, so I will have some time.’ She looked at John. ‘Are you Roger’s True Love?’

  
‘Um... I suppose so...’ John mumbled.

  
He didn’t sound very enthusiastic, Roger thought. ‘You don’t have to do it, Deaky,’ he said.

  
‘Of course he’ll do it!’ Freddie cried. ‘Don’t be ridiculous dear!’

  
Brian looked as miserable as Crystal felt. Crystal thought Brian might have a crush on John.

  
‘Roger and I will go on training runs with you, John,’ Crystal heard himself volunteering and wondered what the hell he was doing. (Making sure John could do this for Roger, maybe.)

  
Roger looked startled but then nodded. ‘Yes, of course, that is certainly the least I can do!’

  
John felt sick. This was not going to work. How could he tell them he was not Roger’s True Love and never had been?

  
*

  
_I’m the greatest lover that you never had_  
_I’m just about..._  
_I’m just about..._

  
Chester, England, Present Day

  
A golden retriever greeted Crystal when he trailed into the house after a night shift. His initial thought was that Roger had somehow managed to offend Dominique so badly that she had transformed him into a bouncy blond dog. Then Roger appeared in the hall.

  
‘Morning, Crys, I see you’ve met Lilly.’

  
Crystal petted Lilly. ‘Where did you come from?’ he asked the dog, ‘hmm?’

  
‘Sorry,’ John trailed into the hall too, ‘she is part of the photo-shoot. She belongs to a friend of Freddie’s and she can’t stay at the guest-house.’

  
‘I said we would have her,’ Roger explained, adding anxiously, ‘you’re not allergic are you?’

  
Crystal shook his head. ‘Nah, she’s sweet.’

  
*

  
When Crystal woke up later on Lilly was curled up at the end of his bed. Crystal felt strangely moved.

  
*

  
They ran late at night or early in the morning, building speed and stamina and always, always, running up and down the wishing-steps. Crystal always had to gasp for breath and so did the others.

  
It was frustrating.

  
They did not discuss it.

  
Lilly stayed on after the photo-shoot finished.

  
They did not discuss that, either. Crystal was terrified to ask if Lilly would be leaving in case the answer was yes. He had become attached to the bloody dog.

  
They had started training in March and by mid-November all three of them could finally run up and down the wishing-steps three times while holding their breath and focussing on poetry Dominique had made them learn as a training substitute for the spell.

  
They were as ready as they could be.

  
Freddie and Brian came up to provide moral support. Dominique was there too.

  
Freddie slipped his arm around Roger. ‘Are you ready to be mortal again, dearest?’

  
Roger nodded. He was tense. John was limbering up, stretching. He looked pale.

  
It was a clear night. There was a full moon. Crystal had asked if that was a necessary requirement for the spell to work but Dominique had said not. ‘The love and the spell are what matter,’ she told him.

  
Then John was running and Crystal was holding his own breath. John had a determined look on his face.

  
They all watched in silence and then it was all over.

  
‘I don’t feel any different,’ Roger told them.

  
Dominique sighed. ‘It has not worked. You would be in no doubt if it had worked.’

  
‘Do you need to tweak the spell?’ John asked, his chest heaving. He bent over, placing his hands on his thighs, gasping for breath. ‘I didn’t breathe,’ he added defensively.

  
‘Perhaps the spell,’ Dominique murmured, ‘or perhaps it is the love that is wrong,’ she finished so softly that Crystal, who was standing next to her, thought he might have been the only one to hear her.

  
*

  
Crystal worried about Roger in the days that followed. He was glad that Freddie and Brian had decided to stay for a while: he thought their presence was all that was stopping Roger from withdrawing completely; he was distant as it was.

  
Crystal was terrified Roger might test his immortality as he had done on the night they had met.

  
John seemed distressed too. Crystal supposed he felt he had failed Roger. He wondered about Dominique’s comment that perhaps it was the love that was wrong. But John was devoted to Roger, wasn’t he?

  
*

  
Crystal was working day-shifts. The house was empty when he got home. Roger had left a note to say they had all gone out for a walk and taken Lilly with them.

  
Crystal felt on edge. He decided to go for a run.

  
It was an icy night, clear and crisp. His breath was visible as he sped along. He followed their usual route and automatically held his breath as he began to run up the wishing-steps. The words of the spell entered his thoughts.

  
*

  
Dominique sipped champagne and sat back in her armchair as she felt the magic start to work. She smiled.

  
*

  
Lilly bounded up to the glass door that led out into the garden. ‘Idiot dog,’ Freddie laughed, opening the door, ‘you’ve only just come in!’

  
The dog bounced out into the garden and then began to bark.

  
‘What has she seen?’ Roger wondered, following Lilly out into the garden.

  
‘Leave her, darling,’ Freddie advised him, shivering. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

  
Roger heard a splash and frowned. ‘I think she’s gone into the river.’ He heard a whimpering noise. ‘I think she might be hurt.’

He set off down the sloping garden towards the edge of the river.

  
John followed Roger out into the garden, feeling uneasy.

  
*

  
Crystal ran as if in a dream. The spell weaved in and out of his thoughts. His legs seemed to move of their own accord. It felt effortless.

  
*

  
‘Lilly,’ Roger called. He could hear the dog thrashing about in the water. ‘I think she is caught on something under the water,’ Roger called back to John. ‘There is a rope in the shed, I think.’

  
‘Roger, don’t do anything stupid!’ John called, feeling a sense of foreboding.

  
He heard a splash and realised Roger had also entered the water. ‘Don’t do anything stupid like jump into the water after the dog,’ John muttered. ‘Freddie? Brian? We’re gonna need a little help here!’

  
*

  
Roger gasped as the icy water saturated his clothing, weighing him down. He was glad that he had at least shrugged off his coat and hauled off his boots before jumping in. His teeth chattered as he tried to speak soothingly to the struggling, whining, dog. ‘It’ll be alright, Lilly, love.’

  
Roger groped blindly in the water and his fingers encountered something sharp tangled around the dog’s leg. Barbed wire, perhaps? He thought his fingers were bleeding. He fumbled with the wire in the cold wet darkness. ‘There, now,’ he murmured to Lilly, although he was also trying to calm himself.

  
*

  
Crystal started up the steps for the third time.

  
*

  
Lilly splashed away from Roger: freed.

  
*

  
Roger turned to swim back to the river bank and felt metal bite into his leg. ‘Ow!’

  
*

  
‘Rog,’ Freddie called anxiously from the garden.

  
‘I’m stuck!’ Roger yelled back. ‘There’s some kind of wire in the water. Lilly’s free though. I just need to untangle myself now!’

  
John felt sick. He had a really bad feeling about this.

  
‘We’ve got Lilly,’ Brian shouted. ‘Her leg is cut but other than that she seems fine.’

  
Roger’s cold wet fingers fumbled with the wire. He had a horrible feeling he had somehow managed to tighten it around his leg rather than loosen it. He felt panic rise in his chest.

  
*

  
Crystal hurtled down the wishing-steps consumed by a feeling of euphoria. The air shimmered around him.

  
*

  
Roger’s sleeve was now caught on the wire too. As panic threatened to overwhelm him he reminded himself that he was immortal. This was not a pleasant experience but it would not kill him.

  
He just had time to gulp some air as the water closed over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stopping here means Chapter 3 is going to be a short one, but it seemed like the natural place to take a break. ;)
> 
> The Davenport brothers existed. The photographs of the Cottingley Faeries were a sensation and Mrs. Duncan is very loosely based on Helen Duncan who was tried as a witch. 
> 
> No disrespect to any real people, living or dead, is intended.


	3. True Love

Chester, England, Present Day

‘The curse has been lifted,’ a female voice intoned inside Roger’s head. Roger recognised it as the mother/witch who had cursed him so long ago.

The timing could have been better, he thought, as he sank through the icy water of the river.

‘The magic of the blessing remains mostly in place,’ the voice added, ‘so enjoy, that, I guess. You’ll still have money and people to help you and so on. You will age now but still at a slower pace than others. I wish you well.’

And that would be lovely, Roger thought, absolutely fucking marvellous, as long as he did not drown in the next few minutes.

Roger felt a searing pain in his wrists. Where he had cut them, he realised dimly. The water around him glowed and bubbled. He glimpsed the barbed wire holding him in place. The pain in his wrists was almost unbearable but if he screamed, as he wanted to, then he would drown.

He could die now.

The irony of becoming mortal during a life-threatening situation made Roger want to laugh, but that could prove fatal.

*

Crystal was slumped on the bottom step, gasping for breath, when he heard a female voice inside his head saying, ‘The curse has been lifted. Roger is in mortal danger, you must hurry...’

*

Roger wrenched his sleeve free, feeling rather than seeing his shirt rip. It hurt. He was cut, he knew. He pulled frantically at his leg. He felt panic rise within him. A calm, steady voice in his head, which sounded very like Crystal, reminded him that he could hold his breath for ages while running up and down steps. He could do this.

*

Something was wrong.

Something was wrong with Roger.

Crystal forced his tired legs to run again, this time heading back to the house.

*

‘He’s immortal, dear, I’m sure he is fine,’ Freddie said uneasily.

‘He’s been under the water for too long!’ John screamed. ‘We need to do something! You saw what happened with the water: glowing and boiling! That’s not natural! It’s some kind of magic!’

Brian dived into the water.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ John howled, ‘we don’t need another bloody person in the water Brian!’ He could not lose Brian. Roger might be indestructible but Brian certainly was not.

*

Roger could see Richard’s face, looking up at him, slightly distorted by the water. ‘Come to me, my love,’ Richard invited him. ‘We have been apart for so long. We can be together again now. Come to me.’

*

‘Crystal,’ another female voice piped up inside Crystal’s head. This was Dominique, he thought, as he staggered towards the house as fast as he could. ‘Crystal, you must fight for Roger. Let him know you love him. Tell him now.'

It made no sense at all, Crystal thought irritably, as he was nowhere near Roger. Still, she had been correct about the spell. He was gasping for breath. ‘Roger,’ he gulped, ‘I am coming to you as fast as I can. I love you; am your true love apparently, like in a fairy-tale...'

If he hadn’t felt so anxious about Roger he would have felt incredibly stupid.

*

Roger shook his head sadly at Richard, whose face was growing fainter. Perhaps Richard had been the true love of the Roger of that time but now he belonged with Crystal. He was going to grow old with Crystal, he thought, slightly desperately; he just had to get out of this tangle first. He wrenched frantically at the wire. Crystal was waiting for him. Crystal loved him. He could live properly with Crystal, age with him.

Someone else was there: large hands hauling at the wire, pulling Roger up, up, up, until his head broke the surface of the water and he gasped for air. Brian was propelling him back towards the bank.

‘Thank you,’ Roger gasped.

John and Freddie helped heave both of them up onto the bank.

‘What happened, darling?’ Freddie asked.

‘Caught... Wire...’ Roger gulped.

Freddie shook his head. ‘No, no, no! What happened, Roger? The water was glowing. There were bells ringing.’

‘The curse has been lifted,’ Roger explained.

John gasped. ‘You could have died!’

‘He still might,’ Brian grumbled, ‘of hypothermia. Can we discuss this indoors please?’

*

Crystal dropped to his knees, exhausted, just inside the front door. ‘Roger?’ he panted. He looked beseechingly at Freddie, who had floated serenely into the hall.

‘He’s quite alright, dear,’ Freddie assured him. ‘Here, let me help you. Can you stand?’

*

Roger was huddled in a blanket in the armchair by the stove. He jumped up as Freddie helped Crystal into the kitchen. ‘Crys! Are you hurt?’

Crystal shook his head. ‘I’m just tired: too much running. Why is your hair wet?’

Freddie edged towards the door. ‘I’ll leave you two to it!’

Crystal squeezed into the chair next to Roger and cradled him in his arms. ‘Apparently I’m your true love.’

Roger grinned. ‘I have no luck at all!’

‘Why is your hair wet?’ Crystal repeated.

Roger explained what had happened. ‘Brian and John have taken Lilly to the vet and to get Brian dry clothes,’ he finished.

‘How are your injuries?’ Crystal asked.

‘They are just scratches, but...’ Roger held out his wrists for Crystal to inspect. The scars were old and faint but they were there. They had not been there that morning: Roger had not had any lasting reminders of his suicide attempt earlier that day but he did now.

‘I think it is to make it real for me,’ Roger explained.

Crystal nodded. ‘I knew something was wrong. I was so scared in case I’d... I thought maybe you were...’

Roger held him close. ‘I’m here. I’m right here.’ He smiled. ‘And thanks to you, I’m normal.’

Crystal snorted. ‘I wouldn’t go that far!’

*

Crystal showered and changed then insisted on looking at Roger’s cuts; cleaning them and dressing them. He made tea.

‘I feel redundant, darling,’ Freddie pouted.

‘How was John?’ Crystal wondered as they sat at the table drinking tea.

Freddie and Roger exchanged Meaningful Looks. ‘John was very cross with Brian for entering the water to fetch Roger,’ Freddie began, ‘and he blurted out that he loves Brian and wouldn’t have been able to cope if he had lost him.’

‘Then they kissed,’ Roger continued, grinning, ‘and it turns out that Brian loves John, too. Then John confessed that he only ever dated me to see if it would push us,’ Roger indicated himself and Crystal, ‘together. He’s been agonising over his failure to lift the curse.’

‘You are all idiots,’ Freddie observed.

‘John... What...?’ Crystal shook his head. So John had known that he could not lift the curse. ‘Why didn’t he say anything before now?’

‘I don’t think he knew how,’ Roger said softly. ‘Don’t be too hard on him, Crys, he was trying to help and he felt horrible about it.’

Crystal snorted. ‘So he should feel horrible about it!’

‘Well, you could argue that if you two weren’t such fools then John wouldn’t have needed to take such drastic steps to get you to realise that you were made for each other,’ Freddie noted. ‘And all is well that ends well, isn’t it?’

Crystal supposed this was unarguably true.

*

Crystal felt awkward about seeing John again, despite John’s brand new relationship with Brian. When they heard Brian and John enter with Lilly, Crystal stood up and began to pace around the kitchen. He felt slightly annoyed with John but at the moment the awkwardness was winning. Lilly limped in to the kitchen, giving Crystal a sorrowful look and lifting her bandaged foreleg in an evident bid for sympathy. The dog really was like Roger, Crystal thought fondly, scratching Lilly’s silky ears.

‘Brian, did you get cut?’ Crystal asked, as Brian and John followed the dog into the room. ‘Do you need me to treat any injuries?’

Brian shook his head. ‘Thank you, but no. I was wearing gloves, luckily.’ He looked from Crystal to Roger. ‘So... Are you two a couple, then?’

It was Roger who replied. ‘Yes, isn’t it wonderful?’ Brian flushed. He looked at John. ‘Yes, it’s amazing.’

‘Have you looked at Roger’s wounds, Crystal?’ John fussed. ‘Does he need a tetanus jab?’

Crystal felt slightly irritated at the implication that he might have been neglecting Roger. ‘Yes, I have looked at his cuts.’ (Which should surely have been obvious, he reflected.) ‘And all his vaccinations are up to date so he doesn’t need a tetanus booster.’ Crystal had made sure Roger had been vaccinated against everything possible after he had met him.

John nodded, ‘Good,’ he said. He cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t intend to upset you.’

For a brief moment Crystal thought that John was apologising for irritating him by casting aspersions on the level of medical care Crystal had given to Roger. Then he realised that John meant that he had not intended to upset Crystal by dating Roger. Well, he had been upset, Crystal thought. ‘You knew the spell wouldn’t work,’ he noted. He was finding it hard to forgive John for that.

John glared at him. ‘Well, you knew you loved Roger. If you had taken some action then I wouldn’t have needed to!’

‘I thought Roger loved you!’ Crystal yelled. Lilly looked up at him reproachfully and Roger looked uneasy.

‘Roger was in love with the memory of Richard,’ John snapped, ‘and he was very obviously in love with you. I can’t believe you two lived like a couple, albeit without sex, for years and still failed to figure out that you were meant to be together! Drastic action was required.’

Crystal sulkily thought that John hadn’t done very well at figuring out that his crush on Brian was mutual but he grudgingly acknowledged that John had a point. He was surprised when Roger said, ‘It was the way we met, you see. I was... vulnerable. The timing was wrong and then we just... drifted along as friends, I suppose.’

Crystal nodded. He thought of all the time they had wasted with a little pang of regret.

‘As I’ve said before: you are all idiots,’ Freddie rolled his eyes. ‘Still, at least you have worked it out now and everyone is with their True Love.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far then thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!


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